Texas Blood Feud

by Dusty Richards

  “I’ll see what I can do about that. You see any hooves in their prints?”

  “We’ve drove them up through Comanche Pass and way down on Bressler’s Creek so many times, it’s hard to tell.”

  “Yeah,” Reg said. “They about beat us back.”

  “Keep doing it. I catch anyone driving cattle in on us, they can answer to me.”

  “Uncle Chet, they must be doing it with dogs and at night.”

  “We can stop them. Let me scout some first. Maybe I can get a lead on ’em. We may have to fight fire with fire.”

  After breakfast, the three rode off, Heck, Reg, and Sammy, with three of their best stock dogs. A good working dog could replace two or three average hands on horseback. So they had the force. Each carried a rifle and a pistol. Chet was taking no chances.

  Then he sent J.D. and Matt to San Antonio to buy some mules. Matt took a rifle in a scabbard on the buckboard dash. With his crew gone, Chet saddled a big bay horse called Jeepers.

  May came down to the corral and stood by the fence. He nodded to her. They had hardly spoken since the funeral. She looked tired.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “I know you’ve tried to do your best for me and I wanted to thank you. I guess I must face that my husband doesn’t want me.” She bit her lip and turned away so he couldn’t see her cry. “I know you tried, Chet—but what am I to do?”

  He went around and hugged her. “We can only hope he sees the errors of his ways.”

  “He has. It’s me.”

  “No, May, you’ve done your part. Dale Allen has to find himself.”

  “I thought after she left—”

  “May, be patient. It is all I can say.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe after the cattle drive, he’ll have some time to think about it and make a good decision. Or he may never come back.”

  Chet closed his eyes. “May, you know I’ll do all I can do for you.”

  She sniffed. “Chet, you’ve tried so hard. I just don’t know where to turn.”

  He agreed and jerked down the stirrup. “Maybe I can find an answer.”

  Downcast, he nodded to her and rode off. What else could he do? He felt boxed in between the two, and he didn’t choose either of them. After his wife died, Dale Allen rushed out to get someone to care for Baby Rachel. He didn’t pick a wife—in Chet’s eyes, he married a nanny.

  A few hours later, Chet bellied down under some cedars and used his field glasses focused on the Reynolds family headquarters. A few low log buildings, cedar-shingle roofs, pole corrals, and there were several horses standing hipshot at the racks. They’d been there for a while. The fresh piles of horse apples were all around them, like they’d been ridden hard the night before and left hitched.

  A few of the men finally staggered outside and stretched like they’d only woken up a few minutes earlier. Tired from the night’s work herding cattle on Byrnes land, no doubt. Even Kenny was there—the sheriff had recently gone by there on a good piece of gossip. Shame he’d missed him.

  Maybe Chet needed to hire a bounty hunter? He’d never asked anyone to fight for him before. He wasn’t starting now. Where was Mitch? Probably not far away.

  Chet remained out of sight, observing them until they checked their cinches and rode off loudly laughing. Obviously, they were laughing about shifting more stock onto the ranch. Must be easy to gather them; they sure never did anything for their horses. Left them standing saddled all night, didn’t water them, and set out again to work cattle with them. He hated people who didn’t care for their stock.

  He let them ride off to the east, and then he slipped back to his own mount. Tightening the cinch, he stepped aboard. Then he rode north in a large swing; he wanted to see for himself this cattle gathering and how they shoved the animals onto his place.

  He found the Reynolds bunch an hour later, gathering cattle and driving groups of them north. In a short while, they had several head assembled, and were joined by some of the Campbells that he recognized in the glasses. They also brought cattle into basin from the east. Cattle the boys had more than likely been turning back. Several hundred head of cattle boiled up dust, close to a dozen rope-swinging riders shouting at them to urge them north onto—C land.

  The short winter day was fast fading, and the Reynolds riders were making good time up the wide-open swale, and the number of stock kept growing as they picked up more. He followed them at a distance. They crossed the south boundary of the ranch, and these cattle were moving hard enough, they’d not stop for quite a ways.

  His blood about to boil, he whacked the top of his saddle horn with his palm. That bunch would get their comeuppance. If it was the last thing he did on this earth, they’d damn sure rue the day they pushed those cattle onto his ranch. Still angry, he knew what he’d do. Reynolds had several pigs they were feeding out. Like most hill folks, they ran hogs on the range and when they got big enough, they trapped them and put them in a feedlot for finishing. Raised in the wild, even after feeding them, they were still spooky enough to easily run off if shown an opening.

  Pushing Jeepers in a hard lope, he headed right for the Reynolds’ spread. Circling around, he knew he had beaten them home. The strong odor of pig shit assailed his nose. With a quick check to be certain in the twilight there was no one around, he rode out of the brush from the backside, hearing the pigs fighting each other over some scraps in the confines of the rail-walled pen. He tossed his reata around a post and dallied the lariat around the horn. He turned the gelding off, and it set his muscles to pulling on the post. The post broke off at the ground with a snap, and an entire section of the rail fence collapsed.

  Those pigs needed no encouragement to flee captivity. They tore out like they were on fire. Whuffing away, they went straight for the darkening cedars, and weren’t hesitating.

  Chet shook his reata loose of the post, and grinned at the shouting he heard coming from the house.

  “Them gawdamn hawgs jest got out, Maw!”

  “Aw. Hell, Paw will be mad as a hornet! How’d they do it?”

  He didn’t hear anymore. It was time to leave. He put steel to the big horse. Jeepers cat-hopped up the steep hillside and reached the top. Chet reined up to listen. Those loose hogs were still squealing, “We’re free!”

  And going in four directions as hard as they could run. They’d be days trying to get them back, and all the grain fat would be run off by then.

  He headed back for the ranch in a short lope. Those damn Reynolds riders had not seen the full force of his ability to fight fire with fire. This old crap they dished out had grown past turn-the-other-cheek for him. Next, he’d ambush those evening cattle drives and send those cattle right through the Reynolds house. When he was through with them, they’d want this damn war over with and done.

  Susie came out when he dismounted in the dark at the house, and accompanied him to the corral. “You have any supper?”

  “No, but I’m fine.”

  She shook her head in disapproval as they walked in the starlight. “I have food in the oven, but you knew that.”

  “How did the day go?”

  “All right. They came in about four and had sorted out lots of cattle, they said, and pushed them east.”

  “They drove in a hundred, maybe two, tonight in the south.” He stripped out the latigos and looked over at her with a head shake.

  “What are they doing this for?”

  “To make life miserable for us. I did some getting even this evening. I pulled down their hog pen and send maybe forty head of them wild devils loose. They’ll be damn busy for a while gathering those crazy pigs.”

  She chuckled. Her fist to her mouth to suppress her hilarity, she finally managed to ask, “How?”

  “I roped a fence post and Jeepers here broke it off. Those pigs heard it pop, and they ran out of that pen like the devil was on their heels, and were still running last I heard of them.”

  “Some of those hogs they’ll never get rounded
up again.”

  “Good. Maybe that will teach them something.” Jeepers was in the lot and rolling in the dust. Chet closed the gate. “Let’s go see about that food.”

  “I got another letter from Louise today,” Susie said, holding her hem out of the dust and matching his steps.

  “What did she say?”

  “Not much, except in three weeks she’s coming back.”

  “Oh, that’s good news. Poor May is about beside herself about her husband, and now Louise is coming back. I’d hoped she’d stay down there until the herd was headed north.”

  “And he’d be gone with it.”

  “Yes.” He stopped and washed his hands on the porch. Wetting his face down with handfuls of water, he dried it on the proffered flour-sack towel and thanked her.

  The house was quiet. The others were all in bed. Chet and Susie went in the kitchen, and she turned the lamp up on her way to the range. She served him a plate of potatoes and thin-sliced roast beef. A few biscuits, and she brought the butter in a small tub.

  “Mother is failing—”

  He looked across the table and studied his sister’s serious face. “I guess we all knew it was coming. We just aren’t ready for it to happen now.”

  “She’s stopped eating. You know, I fought to make her get out of bed. I guess I didn’t fight her hard enough.”

  “Susie, that’s not your fault. Don’t take on those burdens, too. She made those choices. I think a person wants out of this world, we ought to let them go.”

  “But what has her life been like over the years?” Susie shook her head, close to tears. “Three children kidnapped and never heard from again. That has eaten her heart out.”

  He agreed, and the beef wadded in his mouth. No way he could swallow it, but he did not want to upset her and kept chewing. Somehow, he needed to get this down his constricted throat. The fork set aside, he worked harder on the meat.

  “Oh, Chet, I have tried.”

  His hand shot across the table and he clasped her wrist. “Don’t you take on the guilt for this. There was no more any of us could do.”

  The load behind his teeth began to ease. Her wet lashes blinked and she chewed on her lower lip. “If only—”

  “There is none of that. Mother wishes to leave us, then we must make it comfortable as we can for her.”

  She nodded. “We shall, brother. We shall.”

  “Thanks. I’ve had enough.” He pushed the plate away and gave her a grim nod. “You need anything, ask me.”

  “I will, and thank you,” she said behind him as he put on his hat.

  Somehow, he was dragged into everything that happened on the ranch. Hell, he had big shoulders. What else did he need?

  He waved to her and headed out into the silent night. The frost had silenced the bugs and croakers—be nice when spring came. He closed his eyes for a second. No way he’d escape all this simply with a change of the seasons. No way in the world.

  Chapter 21

  Chet drove the big black mares to Maysville for a barrel of flour and to have some cornmeal ground. Both of the mares were bred to a mammoth jack, and he expected some more good mules from them in the spring. The four mules stolen were from the big team. Matt and J.D would not find that good a grade of mules in San Antonio. He reined up at Grosman’s Store, set the brake, and tied off the reins. When his boot soles hit the ground, they came from all corners.

  There were four of them. Earl came in the lead. Red-faced, his wrinkled shirt half out of his pants. Unshaven and red-eyed, he looked like he’d just crawled out of a whiskey barrel. No way Chet could gun them down. They were too scattered, and they either carried sticks or rifles. He’d badly misjudged ’em. They’d set this trap for him, knowing sooner or later they could separate him from the rest.

  Maybe it was by pure bad luck, but they had him between a rock and hard place.

  “Earl! I can get one shot off and I sure aim to gut-shoot you.” He held his left palm up to stop them. “They may get me, but you’re going die an agonizing death.”

  They froze. Then the others looked at Earl for the word on what to do next. He repeatedly smashed a four-feet-long club in his palm, and the hatred danced in his dark eyes His breath roared in and out of his nose like a hard-run horse. “You sumbitch—”

  Chet drew his Colt and blasted the hard dirt inches from his left boot. Dust and grit flew up. Earl threw up his arm to protect his face and eyes.

  “Next one’s in your gut. You call for it.”

  “You killed my boy—”

  “He stole my remuda along with his friends.”

  “He was just a damn boy.”

  “He took on a man’s job as a rustler and took his chances.”

  “He was—”

  “Earl, if he’d made it to the Nation and sold those horses, you’d’ve laughed at me and said go get ’em back.”

  “He was my youngest.” Earl looked close to tears.

  “He was old enough to know better. Now, you ready to die in this street or not? I’ve got business to take care of.”

  “Come on, boys.” Earl gave a toss of his head like he’d thought better about the deal.

  “Earl?”

  “What?”

  “Stop driving cattle on the bar-C. I won’t stand for it.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Don’t lie to me. I watched ’em night before last. They were your boys and the Campbells. I’ll make buzzard meat out of them next time they drive cattle on my place.”

  “You got to prove that.”

  “You want more dead kinfolks and boys, send them back. I’ll be waiting with a big gun.” He knew which one, too.

  “Come on,” Earl said to the others. “I’ll get that sumbitching Byrnes one day.”

  Chet took aim with his pistol and shot Earl’s right boot heel off. He staggered and went down on his knee. “Why you—”

  “You watch who you call that. Next time, I’ll aim higher and shut your mouth.”

  They helped Earl up and looked back hard at Chet, but they’d also seen his marksmanship as the thick-set Reynolds hobbled on his heel-less boot, cussing all the way. They must have hitched their horses in the alley behind the saloon. Chet kept his eye on them as he poked out the empty casings and reloaded the cylinders with cartridges from his belt.

  When he stepped inside the store’s shady interior, he saw Old Man Grosman heading for the counter carrying a sawed-off shotgun. Behind the counter again, he stowed it underneath and then straightened up before he spoke. “I was watching them bullies.”

  “Thanks. Helluva a reception I got today. I’ve got a list Susie sent me to fill and while you fill it, I’ll drive down and get my meal ground. His old steam boiler running?”

  “It was yesterday.” Grosman let out a breath and shook his head. “Them Reynolds folks better smarten up. Two of his boys are facing murder trials. He’s going to lose ’em all.”

  “Revenge is all he can see. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “Watch your back,” Grosman said, holding Susie’s list up to the lamplight to read it.

  Chet could hear the huff of the steam engine over the rattle of the wagon when he drove the mares down in the bottoms. Buddy Lee ran the mill machinery that ground corn as well as sawed lumber with the same power source. Buddy Lee was not the picture of industry—he’d rather drink or talk than work. But if one was lucky and found the boiler fueled and the engine running, one had a chance to get what he needed. This day Chet hoped it would be ground corn.

  “Chet Byrnes, you old rascal.” Buddy Lee stood up and adjusted his overall suspenders.

  “What’cha need?” he asked over the whirr of the red belt driving the steel grinder that was shattering the corn falling out of a hopper into the mill.

  “Two hundred pounds of cornmeal.”

  Buddy Lee looked at the sun. “I guess I’ve got time to grind it.”

  “Good. How much more of that you got to run?”

&n
bsp; “Aw, he ain’t coming fur this till Friday. I can start in on yours shortly. Throw some chunks of that wood in the firebox. I’ll sack this last and we can do yours next.”

  “Thanks.” One thing had gone right.

  In no time, his corn was cracking through and Buddy Lee showed him a handful of the product. “That good enough?”

  Chet agreed,

  “You and them Reynolds folks still at war?”

  Chet told him about the incident earlier, and the miller shook his head. “They’re crazy.”

  “But they’re crazy enough to hurt my family. No one is safe after they murdered Jake Porter’s wife.”

  “That was the mean damn part. I liked her.”

  “Everyone did. She was a fine lady.”

  Buddy Lee hoisted the half-full sack of whole corn over his head and poured more corn in the hopper. “She was no part of that war,” he said.

  Chet agreed, feeling a gnawing in his gut. He didn’t have her anymore either.

  Late in the afternoon, he drove home with his six-gun in his lap. Nothing happened, and everyone rolled out when he drove in. They unloaded the wagon, and Reg took charge of the team to put them up.

  “Have any trouble today?” Sammy asked as he climbed on to help him.

  “Earl and three Campbells tried to jump me when I got to town. I about shot Earl in the foot and they backed off. Then, walking away, he called me a son of bitch and I shot his boot heel off.”

  Reg shook his head in dismay from the seat. “They’re crazy.”

  “After you put those horses up, don’t dally around, supper’s ready,” Susie said to them.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Shot off his boot heel?” she asked.

  Chet took off his hat and hung it on a peg to wash up. “Yeah. He needed his filthy mouth washed with lye soap.”

  “You better not go anywhere alone either,” she said, and with a swish of her skirts went inside.

  He agreed to himself with a nod, and hand-washed his face. She probably was right. At last he dried his face as Dale Allen joined him to wash up.

  “Boys said you shot Earl’s boot heel off today.”